


why are we playing this game?

by recalibrates



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 10:24:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10739778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recalibrates/pseuds/recalibrates
Summary: joellis ficlets. will be updated periodically. ratings and warnings may vary. (this is a reupload)





	1. kholat

**Author's Note:**

> rated teen and up. adam is too obvious.

“Like, I don’t like scary movies.” Joel says distractedly.

“You don’t?” Adam asks. “I mean, I like scary movies, I don’t like scary games.”

After a moment, still focussed on Kholat, Joel continues. “I mean, it depends. It depends on the movie—”

“—We can have a movie night, where—”

“—Like, Alien was a scary movie.” He rambles on. Under the desk, Adam’s foot slides up against his.

“—I’ll bring over some popcorn and we’ll hang out, and we’ll have some popcorn and watch a scary movie together.”

They pause to laugh. Joel moves his shoe roughly against Adam’s, a little more than nudge and a little less than a kick.

He clears his throat. “Alright.”

Tangling their ankles between their chairs, they continue.

\--

“You fucker.” Joel says, after they’ve taken their headphones off and stopped capture.

“What?”

“You fucker.” He repeats.

Adam chuckles, standing up to stretch. “I dunno what you’re talking about. Wanna get lunch?”

“You asshole.” Joel stands as well, his grin belying the way he shakes his head. “You’re so… If people only knew. How much of your goddamn flirting I have to edit out, every fucking time.”

Adam reaches for him and Joel half-heartedly bats him away twice before allowing the large man to settle his warm hands on Joel’s hips. His fingers sneak beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt to rest on bare skin. “You’re imagining things. Who’d wanna flirt with _you_?”

“Still in the room.” Matt reminds them from several feet away, not looking up from his computer.

Adam leans in to close the distance between their faces but Joel puts a hand on his cheek and pushes him away. “Everyone. I’m sexy.”

“Mmm. Are you?” Adam murmurs against his palm, nuzzling into it.

“I am and you know it. Fuck you. Dick.” Nevertheless, Joel squeezes his thick biceps and tilts his chin up for a kiss.

“Yeah, I’ll show you a dick.” Adam growls. They smile into it, as they always do, their quiet, breathy laughs turning into sighs as the kiss deepens.

“Still here, guys.” Jeremy says from a little further away, not looking away from his computer, either.

“Shut up, Jeremy, we’re leaving.” Joel shoves Adam off him and they shuffle their way through the room, towards the door. “I’m driving, you’re paying.” He instructs, grabbing the car keys out of Adam’s pocket and jangling them loudly.

“Then you’re paying for pizza, for the movie date.”

“What the fuck? Fine, you’re paying for condoms. We’re out.”

“And who’s paying for my therapy, for having to hear this?”

“ _Shut up, Jeremy!_ ”


	2. casserole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rated teen and up. adam is noisy, joel is nosy.

Being an actor has its ups and downs. Mostly downs, if you aren’t one of the better-known ones. Joel Heyman is, unfortunately, in that category of ‘struggling amateur with a BFA and nowhere to use it’. Sure, he had a few gigs here and there that took him from one end of the country to the other, but there was nothing stable, nothing permanent. A deal like that was never a guarantee, anyway. Such is the life of an artist.

Honestly, he should have anticipated that he would wind up back in his hometown of Austin, Texas, moving his well-traveled luggage into a one-bedroom apartment, twenty minutes from where he grew up. He got a desk job at a start-up company—which he’s pretty sure he only landed because his college buddies were running it—and took a chunk out of his savings to get a reliable, used truck. It isn’t the seven-movie-contract and Ferrari F40 of his dreams, but at least he has a consistent source of income while he continues to do auditions on the side.

It isn’t the intended direction he planned to go in with his life, but he finds himself unable to complain at the end of the day. He had a roof over his head, food in his stomach, and friends nearby. The only thing he really wants are peaceful, unhurried mornings, of which he gets none.

And Joel is not a morning person.

\--

He lives close enough to work that it only takes him a twenty minute drive to get there, thirty if there’s traffic, so he likes to give himself time to lie in and mentally prepare himself for the day. Such quiet moments are a luxury to him, given that his new neighbour is an insatiable, lustsome beast who insists on boisterous sex at five AM.

He chose this apartment building for the fact that it’s far enough away from the schools that he wouldn’t have annoying college kids living nearby, it’s within walking distance of a grocery store if he felt inclined to stretch his legs, and that rent isn’t too steep, considering how close to downtown it is. Unfortunately, a cheap apartment could only mean just that, a cheap apartment, so finding out how thin the walls were was disappointing, but hardly surprising.

It starts six months into Joel’s lease.

The apartment next to his was vacant since he moved in. He checked it out before deciding to go with the one he has now, for the sole reason that his balcony is bigger and he likes to have a chair and table out there for smoking purposes. Whoever moved in had done it quickly and during the week, so Joel only got glimpses of boxes in the hallway over the course of two days as he was leaving for work and coming home. He never met the new neighbour—neighbours?—and didn’t think it necessary to. They would cross paths eventually.

The aggressive morning sex begins a few days later.

Joel thought he was imagining it, at first. He was in a year-long dry spell and it wouldn’t be the first time he dreamt of getting pounded by a big, tough man, but it was unnerving to find that the noises wasn’t the lumberjack in his dreams, but the guy who moved in beside him.

The guy who, apparently, could only fuck his exceptionally quiet partner in the wee hours of the morning, in the living room, no less. Joel knew because he remembered the layout of that apartment, and how the open space of the den was on the other side of his bedroom wall.

Every morning at the crack of dawn, like clockwork, the neighbour’s grunts and groans start up and Joel pries his weary eyes open. He’s quiet at first, getting louder and louder, sometimes carrying on the moan for an excessive amount of time that makes Joel question the type of sex they’re having, over there. Especially since it lasts a solid half hour before it’s over and Joel can finally try to chase sleep again.

He’s not one to pass judgement or to cockblock, he prides himself on that. But his patience begins wears thin on the sixth day in a row. By the seventh day, he’s looking at his options.

\--

“Don’t tell the super.” Burnie advises him over beers in his living room.

“Why not?”

“’Cause you’ll look like a snitch.” Matt says, nodding. “You don’t know anything about this person.”

“Yeah, he could be a drug-dealing gangbanger.” Burnie shrugs.

“What if I leave him a note?” Joel suggests. “That’s non-aggressive, non-confrontational—”

“No, that seems dick-ish. Pretentious.”

“What the hell else am I supposed to do? Knock on the guy’s door and tell him to stop having sex?” Joel furrows his brow, gesturing towards the offending neighbour’s apartment.

“Well, don’t say it like _that._ ” Matt points the neck of his beer bottle towards him. “You go over there at a reasonable time in the evening, maybe before dinner, maybe bring a casserole—”

“A casserole!” Joel exclaims. “I’m giving this guy a casserole for waking me up to listen to him grunting like a fuckin’ gorilla every morning like he’s my new goddamn alarm clock—”

“Not a casserole, shut the fuck up, Matt,” Burnie interrupts, waving him off. “But you do need to go over there and be real chill about it, like, ‘hey, I live next door, we’re neighbours now so I just wanted you to know that I can hear you—’”

Joel rubs his temples in frustration. “Is there even a polite way to say this? I don’t think there is. I’m going to get punched in the face. This guy is going to punch me in the face.”

“Then don’t tell the guy.” Matt says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Tell the girlfriend. Or the wife, whoever.”

Joel slowly raises his head to look up at him. “Tell the girlfriend.” He repeats.

Burnie slams his hand on the table. “There you go! Tell the girlfriend! That is some forward fucking thinking.”

It seemed solid enough of an idea, so much so that Joel decides to attempt it the next day.

It’s just after six and he is still in his work clothes, hoping they would make him look like he means business. Which he does. He’s serious about that extra forty minutes of sleep in the morning.

He knocks three times, sharply, steeling himself in the hallway. He shifts from one foot to the other and practices his most friendly and professional voice in his head until the door swings open.

The man who greets him is tall, huge in fact, with an impressive beard and imposing physique. It’s rare for Joel to feel dwarfed at six foot one, but this man has three inches and fifty pounds of muscle on him, easily. He looks up into the man’s very soft, very blue eyes, and stammers out a hello.

“I live next door.” Joel states.

The man looks at him as if waiting for him to continue, and when he doesn’t, he nods. “Uh, alright. Nice to meet you. I’m Adam Ellis.” He extends his hand, which Joel takes and shakes weakly. His grip is so strong. His punches are probably stronger.

“Joel Heyman.” He responds. “Is your, uh… Is your Girlfriend home? Or… Wife?”

Adam furrows his brows. “Pardon?”

“Your, uh… Lady. Lover. Partner. Significant other?” Joel ventures.

Adam raises his brows. “What’s this about?” He looks over Joel’s button down and slacks. “Are you a Jehovah’s Witness? My mom’s a Catholic. She’s not going to like this.”

“What? I—No, I’m not—” Joel looks down at himself, confused. “I just came back from work. That’s not the point. When will your, uh, your missus be home?”

Adam leans against the doorframe, looking almost amused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Joel sighs and gives him a pleading look.

Finally, he barks a laugh and shakes his head. “Sorry, man, but seriously, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a girlfriend. There’s no one here but me.”

\--

He lied. Joel knows it. He knows, because the next morning, there it is again. Rhythmic thumping and grunting coming from the other side of the wall.

Joel rolls over in bed and shoves at his alarm clock until it falls off the bedside table and into the trash can on the floor. It’s not like he needs it anymore, anyway.

\--

He gets the idea to catch him with her. Surely there’ll be a time when he spots a woman sneaking in and out of the apartment next door, likely early in the morning or late at night. He rearranges his entire living room so that his TV faces the front door and the recliner a few feet in front of it. From there, he can get out of his apartment in two seconds, tops. He can hear all the noises from the other people living on their floor, too, and often pokes his head out to check on who it could be.

Sometimes it’s the nurse two doors down, coming in from her night shift. Other times, it’s the family at the end of the hall, trying to corral their children towards the door without too much ruckus.

Once in a while, it’s Adam.

They exchange a brief greeting with the amount of awkwardness expected from apprehensive neighbours, what with Joel’s focus being on Adam’s hands (no wedding ring), face and neck (no hickies), clothes (girls probably didn’t let their boyfriends go out with holes in their shirt, right?). No matter the time of day or night, he’s never with a girl. There was a Tuesday afternoon when an older woman knocked on Joel’s door, mistaking it for Adam’s—who greeted him with shock and surprisingly enthusiastic hug—but it ended up being his mother. It was a strange reaction to have, but Joel decided not to dwell on it.

The morning-sex-sounds continue.

At this point, he’s used to it, even waking up a few minutes before it starts, but he feels so invested that he can’t just let it go now. He has to find this woman for his own peace of mind.

Joel proceeds with Plan B.

\--

If they catch each other in the lobby, Joel holds the door open for him. He stops taking the elevator and joins Adam on the walk up to the sixth floor, making small-talk and pretending that his lungs and legs aren’t burning to match the speed at which Adam climbs the stairs. In the shared laundry room, he peeks at Adam’s hampers, but doesn’t spot any incriminating panties.

What he does learn is that they share a few common interests like certain movies and video games, and that Adam works with computers. He’s quite a few years younger than Joel and strokes his beard when he’s deep in thought. He’s a little handsy, always patting Joel on the shoulder or nudging at him with an elbow, but Joel doesn’t find that he minds too much.

Adam seems alright, he decides, a big, handsome guy like that.

\--

“This is probably a weird question to ask,” Joel begins conversationally, standing in Adam’s doorway. “Do you like Chinese food?”

Adam gives a half shrug. “I mean, yeah, sure. Why?”

“It’s just, I ordered extra because I had a few people coming over, but they bailed, so.” He lies apologetically, gesturing to his door. “I got a lot of shit, and I don’t think it’ll keep well. You hungry?”

They sit on Joel’s couch and talk, exchanging numbers at some point, eating their weight in rice and noodles until Adam has to turn in for the night. “I try to go to bed by ten,” He explains. “Early mornings. They’re fuckin’ brutal.”

If this was The Office, Joel would be looking directly into the camera.

It’s the first time he invites Adam into his place and it doesn’t end up being the last. A week and a half later, he needs help rearranging the furniture in his living room after buying a new shelving unit for his DVDs. Shortly after that, Adam comes over to yell after a failed Destiny raid and ends up sticking around and eating all his ice cream in frustration. They got to that level of comfortability pretty quickly and Joel isn’t sure what to make of that. Either way, he grabs a second spoon and tries to steal a bite of maple walnut before it’s entirely gone.

\--

Two months later, Joel finds out several more things. Adam hates whiskey and used to wrestle in high school. He has a Bengal cat named Solaire and drinks a lot of protein shakes. His laugh makes Joel laugh and his arms are getting noticeably bigger, too, but that’s neither here nor there. He still hasn’t spoken about a girlfriend, or any sort of love life, not even an ex. It’s probably not that weird, considering Joel hasn’t volunteered the same information either. But still.

Another new development is that Joel’s started to wake up, hard.

It’s ridiculous, waking up aching between the legs at his age. He doesn’t begin to entertain the possibility that it could be a result of the sounds Adam is making on the other side of the wall (but he doesn’t tune them out when he deals with it, either).

Plan B seems to not be progressing as quickly as he anticipated.

He calls Matt to prepare for Plan C.

\--

“A casserole.” Adam deadpans, blinking at him from his doorway.

Joel grins. The dish is still hot in his oven-mitt-wrapped hands. “Smell that? That’s fuckin’ four different kinds of cheese. You’re never gonna find another casserole like this in your goddamn life.”

“Al…right.” Adam looks at him, down at the cheese-coated macaroni, then back up at him. “Well. I guess cheat day came early.”

“Damn right.” Joel says, still smiling. He takes a deep breath. “You gonna let me in or what?”

“Oh, shit, of course.” Adam pushes the door further open and steps away from it, making room. “Sorry for the mess. I don’t normally like people over, because...”

Either he trails off or Joel just stops listening because by the time he’s put the casserole dish down onto the kitchen table and shoved past Adam to the living room, he only catches a mention of something about cosplay—which would explain the sewing machine and coffee table piled with fabric and worbla.

Joel is glad he had the foresight to put the pan of food down first because he would’ve thrown it at the floor once he sees that half of Adam’s living room is a home gym and there is an 8-stack multi-station pushed up against the wall. The wall with his bedroom on the other side.

“It all makes sense.” He mutters.

“What? What does?” Adam looks at his fitness equipment. “What are we looking at?”

“The protein shakes. The arms.” He slaps Adam on the bicep. “Dude. I’m— Fuckin’— Oh my _god._ ” He groans, slapping him again.

“I wish I knew what was happening,” Adam cries, twisting his body away to shield his arm from Joel’s relentless punches.

“These walls are so goddamn _thin._ You need to fucking _stop_ working out at _five in the morning._ ” He says through a wheeze, unable to stop himself from laughing until he’s breathless.

“I—How did you know I do that?” Realization dawns on his face. “Oh, shit, your bedroom is right there, isn’t it?”

Joel nods, finally able to speak as he wipes at his own face with his hands. “You have no fucking idea how long… You know, that’s why I asked you about your wife… ‘Cause _I_ thought you were… This whole time… I spent months, fucking _months_ … God-fucking-damn, dude… I was trying to figure out… Why the fuck do your workout-grunts sound like sex-grunts? I mean…”

\--

A couple of weeks and a long, embarrassing explanation later, Joel learns he’s wrong; Adam’s real sex-grunts sound better. He owes Matt an apology casserole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hit me up with prompt reqs if you got any.


End file.
